“Oh, really! That’s an interesting development, isn’t it?” she replied. “No, but it would most likely be one of only a handful of people who would be at those phones. Sometimes, volunteers would man the office phone, but the church staff mostly answered the other lines.”
“Who were the volunteers, usually?” he asked. “Did any of the men volunteer to help in the office?”
“Oh, Bert, you know men. Not many offered to help there. They’d rather help with lawn work. A couple did help inside a few times, including the guy Vicki dated, Simmons. In fact, I think that’s how they met. She stopped in the office on a rare day when he was answering the phone.”
“Okay, well that adds another element to the puzzle. So, it’s possible that Vicki might have called to talk with Simmons if she knew he was at the office. Her cell phone was apparently dead that day during lunch, according to Robert.”
“That would be possible,” Patty returned, “but wasn’t he at a golf tournament in KC?”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot that for a minute. So, unless he drove back to the church from KC for some reason, he would not have been volunteering there. Maybe he just stopped in and just happened to answer that call, since he was used to helping out sometimes.”
Bert looked at Norah, and knew they were both thinking the same thing. There were a lot of maybe’s in there and not many certainties. He thanked Patty for her time and information, and they all left the diner.
As they drove back toward the church, Bert called the office there. Another volunteer was working now instead of Tamara. This woman was about forty, her name was Susan, and she was very talkative. She seemed to be a ball of fire and said she’d been a member of the church since it was first opened. She was very happy to talk with him when he got there.
After they drove up and parked the doghouse, Bert was again taken by the stunning architecture of the church as he walked inside to the office. He introduced himself to Susan. She leaned forward on the desk, seemingly anxious to answer any questions. He told her he only had one question at the present time. What was the history of the groundskeeper shed?
“When I first came to the church,” Susan told him, “there was only a wooden platform about the size of your average bed. It was weathered as if it’d been there for a number of years. I never saw under it, but I’ve been told that it was a cover over an old hand-dug well, what’s often called an artesian well. Apparently it was covered to keep anyone, especially children, from falling in.”
“So, if I’m getting this correct, then, Susan, the old well and cover were embedded in the cement floor of the maintenance shed.”
“Yes, Bert, you’re correct. When the renovation took place and a decision made to have a maintenance or groundskeeper shed, it seemed logical to just eliminate the issue of the old well by cementing it into the floor.”
He recalled his visit to the shed. “That explains why the foundation and floor sit about a foot or more high and there’s a concrete ramp leading up to the double doors. The well covering necessitated that thickness of concrete to fully encapsulate it.”
“You’re right about that, Bert,” she said. Father DelFranco insisted upon that design to ensure that no accident ever occurred with the old well. Nobody knew for sure how deep it was. They only knew that it contained water of an unknown depth.”
Bert’s thoughts were racing as he thanked Susan for her time and returned to Norah and Missy in the doghouse.
It was getting late and the sun was dropping below the western horizon. As he drove toward the motel, he looked longingly and lovingly at Norah, her spirit silhouetted against the darkening landscape. “We have some answers, my Love.”
She’d been waiting for him to speak. “I knew you had something to tell me, once you were ready.”
“Brigit is associated with water, my Love, and she is supposed to have blessed holy wells. There is an old well under the floor of that building, covered over by inches of concrete flooring, probably reinforced with steel rebar.
The name now makes sense.”
“Bert, every time I get around the church now, I’m seeing the portal vision. What if I’m seeing that well, as if looking down into it from above? If that’s it, what is it telling me, Honey?”
“Honey, what if we’re not looking at a murder here. What if one of these women fell through the old, rotting, cover. To an untrained observer, it might have just looked like the cover collapsed, which led to the eventual decision to bury it in concrete. It seems very unlikely, but what if the same fate befell both women.”
She considered that for a while. Eventually she said, “I suppose anything is possible, Bert. However, my sense is that their disappearance was not by accident. How do you explain the angry moodiness exhibited by both victims for months before they died? No, I feel they were killed.
He added one more thought. “We’ve only seen the spirit of Janice Campbell around here. Same with Dori. So, if anyone was killed at the well or is somehow in the well, it is probably her.”
“That makes perfect sense, Honey, except I keep having visions which seem to link them together. Not necessarily as friends, but as victims.”
They arrived back at their motel. There was much on their minds. If the old well held clues or a body, how would they convince the authorities or the church to tear down the shed and destroy the floor. Bert took Missy out for a bedtime walk. As he turned up his coat collar against the January chill of a moonlit night’s breeze, he pondered that question. It was the same challenge they always had, not only with psychic evidence, but evidence from the spirit of the psychic. As with the other cases they’d worked, they just had to find the way.
Back at the motel, he and Norah talked for a while, watching Missy’s usual bedtime antics. She moved from the bathroom floor, to in front of the door, and eventually settled down in her favorite place in front of the window. She only settled down to curl into a ball after doing her spin move a dozen times. It always made her human companions chuckle. They smiled at each other as Bert climbed under the bed covers.
“Good night, my Love,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning and someday on the other side. I love you, Norah. I’d be lost without you.”
She smiled her devilish smile. “Honey, you are lost without me. But I’m here to keep you on the path, Sweetheart. I love you, my captain.”
Bert turned out the light as a tear trickled down his cheek. His life was like a mirror. He could see the image of what he wanted; but he could never reach through and touch her.
Chapter Twelve: Friday
Friday morning was crisp, clear, and cold as the sun rose with a crimson brilliance over the eastern mountains of the Sawtooth National Forest and on toward Yellowstone Park. It promised to be a beautiful January day in southern Idaho. Becky was up and having coffee and breakfast in the motel dining area as she began to call the church to make her appointments. She would be meeting first with Sister Frances at ten, and eleven with Father Stewart. After that, it all depended upon how those meetings went.
While waiting for the first appointment, she went first to the newspaper office and asked for help in finding articles about DelFranco’s death. She found three articles which referenced his unusual death. One in particular caught her attention, because it talked about how his body had been found by the church staff and moved to a bed in the house he was provided. She closed the article and left for her first appointment, wondering as she drove why it was necessary to move him.
Becky arrived at the Catholic church and introduced herself to the current church secretary, an elderly woman named Mrs. Talbert. She visited with the lady while waiting for Sister Frances to return to the office. There was an almost instant connection with Mrs. Talbert and Becky liked her from the first hello. They were having a lively discussion about all manner of things related to Boise when Sister Frances returned. Excusing herself to Mrs. Talbert, Becky turned her attention to the Sister and exchanged introductions.
Sister F
rances was a middle-aged, friendly, yet stern woman. She was short and a little on the chubby side but seemed like a ball of fire when it came to managing her business at the church. Becky liked her, yet she felt a sense of caution or maybe a little distrust. She explained her purpose in being there and asked if the Sister could shed any light on Father DelFranco’s death.
“Oh, it was very unfortunate,” the Sister said. “The poor Father got his medication mixed up it seems and had an adverse reaction. At least his death seemed to have been peaceful.”
“Why do you say that?” Becky asked. Was he found lying on the bed or couch?”
“Yes, he seemed to die peacefully,” Sister Frances replied. “He was a good man and a fine example of a Godly man. We’ve missed him terribly.”
“May I ask who found him, Sister,” said Becky.
Sister Frances quickly answered, “One of our volunteers, a young man who was helping take care of the Father’s residence, was concerned about him and went to check. He said he found the Father and didn’t know if he was unconscious or dead. He came to the office and told me, so I hurried down to the residence to make sure the Father was presentable and called 911 for the ambulance.”
“Was he not presentable, Sister?” asked Becky.
The nun was slow to respond. Finally, she said, “Miss Thompson, the Father had just returned from a shower and was nearly nude at the edge of his bed. He had slumped down on the bed. So, I felt the Lord telling me to make him presentable before the responders arrived. We didn’t want his death to be embarrassing to him or his position in the Church.”
“Oh, I see,” said Becky. “What condition was he being treated for, Sister?”
“He wasn’t actually being treated for anything, but the poor man suffered from joint pain from his years of running, I think. He took herbal supplements and aspirin daily to help ease the pain.”
Becky knew that many people handled their pain the same way, to avoid prescription pain meds. “I guess the autopsy showed that, then?”
The Sister responded in a firm voice. “We asked them not to do an autopsy. There was no reason to defame the body of such a man of God. The coroner agreed.”
“Then I suppose that Father Stewart was called in on rather short notice to replace Father DelFranco?” Becky surmised.
“Yes,” the Sister said. “He came as a temporary priest but decided to stay here. He fell in love with the area. Speaking of Father Stewart, I believe he’s here and ready to talk with you also.”
Becky was introduced to Father Stewart, and Sister Frances left the office to make her rounds of the church. The Father seemed like a very personable yet strong man. It didn’t take long for her to see that he was a man driven for greater things. He didn’t have anything to add to what Sister Frances had said. It was obvious that his information largely came from what she told him. What he did mention, though, was his ambition to move up in the ranks of the Catholic Church. It wasn’t lost on Becky when he said that Sister Frances also was moving on to the diocese as soon as it could be arranged.
The Father said that he needed to go as one of the parishioners was having problems and needed his counsel. Becky told him good-bye and thanks for taking the time to meet with her. She paused after he left to resume the discussion with Mrs. Talbert, who had been in the office the entire time.
They continued to discuss some of the history and people of Boise. Becky asked her how long she’d been acting as a church secretary.
“I think about six years, now,” Mrs. Talbert answered. “I was here during the last year or so of Father DelFranco’s tenure.”
“So, you knew Father DelFranco, then, reasonably well. Was he a good match for the church here?”
Mrs. Talbert looked around and, seeing nobody else within earshot, leaned toward Becky and said, “I don’t think he really liked being here. He never seemed very happy to me.”
“Oh really,” said Becky. “That seems to run counter to what others are saying.
“Yes, well other people have their own reasons for reading things into other people that really aren’t there.” She gave a wink of understanding toward Becky.
“You’re saying that the Church tends to protect its own interests,” she said.
“You’re right about that, Becky.” Mrs. Talbert again looked through the window in the door to the office. Nobody was outside or in sight. “Becky, they aren’t completely leveling with you about what happened to DelFranco.”
“You know, ma’am, I kinda felt that. It felt like they might be leaving something out. Could you talk with me now? Or would you be able to meet for lunch in a few minutes and discuss it?”
Mrs. Talbert straightened up and said that she’d be taking a lunch break in about fifteen minutes and she’d love to share it with Becky. She said with a big smile that the Cheesecake Factory was a good, and tasty, place for lunch.
Becky thanked her for the offer and left the church quickly. She did not want to cause any problems for this lady. She used her phone’s mapping application to locate the Cheesecake Factory and drove there. She waited outside in her truck for Mrs. Talbert. Her instincts were apparently correct about the woman.
She greeted Mrs. Talbert again when she arrived a few minutes later, and they went to a table in a back corner and ordered a light lunch, which, of course, would be topped off with cheesecake.
As they ate, Mrs. Talbert leaned toward Becky and said as quietly as she could that there were some things Becky should know. “For one,” she said, “Sister Frances did make the Father presentable and did get him laid on his bed. I overheard enough of the discussion with the male volunteer to know that.”
“Why did she feel compelled to do that, Mrs. Talbert?” asked Becky. “She could have gotten in trouble with the law for moving his body.”
“Do you know the Catholic Church’s position on suicide?” asked Mrs. Talbert.
“Oh yes, I’ve heard it clearly defined. It’s strictly forbidden and a reason to lose one’s grace,” said Becky. Are you saying that he killed himself?”
The older lady didn’t answer that. “Do you also know that the Church tends to not air its dirty laundry in public. It keeps its secrets.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Becky, the Church has always rewarded those who are team players for the Church.”
“So personal ambition could play a part behind the protection of the Church’s reputation?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Talbert said. “Becky, Sister Frances brought back a handwritten note from Father DelFranco’s residence that day. She meant to file it away, but a phone call interrupted her, and I happened to be working and to see it for just a few seconds. It was in the Father’s handwriting.”
“I’m listening, Mrs. Talbert,” Becky answered. “What did it say?”
Talbert said in a hushed voice, “I’m very sorry. I can’t live with this any longer. May God forgive me.”
Becky leaned back in her chair and ate a couple more bites of her salad, thinking about what she’d been told. What exactly did the note mean, she wondered. What could he not live with? Painful joints, or something much worse? What did he want forgiven? His apparent suicide in the face of Church doctrine? Or had he done something terrible? The note raised more questions than it answered.
“What do you think he was referring to, Mrs. Talbert?” asked Becky.
“I don’t know, Becky,” she said. “From the time he arrived here two years earlier, he was often quiet and seemed distant. It was as if he carried a weight around his neck. When I asked him about it once, he just looked at me for a while and said that he would be coming for him. I assumed he meant that God would be coming for him.”
“Could he have meant someone else, besides God, might be coming for him, Mrs. Talbert?”
The secretary mulled over that with a spoonful of cheesecake. “Well, I suppose so. I never thought about it, really. Why would anyone else be coming for a pastor?”
“I guess that’s th
e $24,000 question, isn’t it,” Becky said. “Why do you think Sister Frances hid the note he left?”
“You hinted at it before,” Mrs. Talbert said. “Primarily to protect the reputation of the Church and limit involvement with the authorities. Also, to eliminate serious speculation about a suicide motive. Perhaps most importantly, the Catholic Church rewards loyal servants, and Sister Frances has ambitions beyond just being at a lone church in Boise, Idaho.”
“Hmm. Well, ma’am, you’ve given me a lot to think about and I appreciate all your time and answers to my questions. I’d better be going, but I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Talbert. I envy you for being able to live and work in such a beautiful part of the country. Boise seems like a marvelous little city.”
Mrs. Talbert continued sitting for a few seconds. Finally, she told Becky she wanted to tell her something. “It has it’s darker side, Becky. There was a terrible crime here just a few weeks ago. I was hesitant to tell you, but you should know that we also have crime. So far, it’s unsolved. I get this feeling that you should know about it.”
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